Aquamarine
by Emerald-Latias
Summary: Sitting in their newly-painted room, Rinoa couldn't help but reflect on the past, back to another time and another blue room. Companion piece to Marigold.


**Aquamarine**

**Summary —** Sitting in their newly-painted room, Rinoa couldn't help but reflect on the past, back to another time and another blue room. Companion piece to Marigold.

**Author's Notes **— Hello again! Surprised to see me writing back so soon instead of holing myself into a hut of some sort this year? Well, the plot bunnies were cutely nibbling at my toes to elaborate over some things I purposely kept only eluding to in Marigold to avoid overshadowing the moment the story was set in. Insofar as this story goes, it's not necessary that you read Marigold but it is recommended to read this short little companion piece.

Oh, and before I forget, happy 13th birthday Final Fantasy VIII!

-—-—-—-—-—-

With the walls no longer bi-coloured, the paint fumes long gone and all the furniture picked out and set in place as of a week and a half ago, I took another moment to sit down on my brand new office chair to fully take in my surroundings for what had to be the umpteenth time now.

And what a beautiful sight it still was.

Squall and I had settled on making this into a spare bedroom, namely because we felt that it was the most logical and functional option given that we already had a decently-sized living room, dining space in the kitchen and his home office upstairs – not to mention the likelihood of one (or several) of our friends crashing here at some point. That being said, amongst the bookcase, dresser, queen-sized bed and nightstand, Squall was also generous enough to foot the bill for a beautiful charcoal-grey desk for my dying laptop that needed to be plugged in at all times. He figured that it'd make more sense than to cram in a teeny laptop stand in our bedroom because this way I could have my morning coffee and browse the internet (and play ad nauseam games of Solitaire) in my own 'unofficial space' without having to go all the way upstairs.

Personally, I think it's because he doesn't trust me with a piping hot mug going up the stairs or think I could avoid accidentally spilling coffee on the sheets and carpet, but I still love the man (despite how anal he is about upkeep and cleanliness) anyway.

Before I could stop myself, I took yet another long glance at the blue walls and beech hardwood flooring surrounding me and the furniture in varying shades of lighter colours dotting the room. As much as I only want to keep thinking about how beautiful the room is or how well Squall had done at helping me pick out furniture, my thoughts drifted, no,_ dragged_ me towards another time and another blue room.

I knew I had my chance to change the colour to avoid this kind of mental slippery slope before it was all said and done, but I also firmly believed that everyone is the master of their own fate. We can either choose to remember the bad times and acknowledge that they'd happened to help us appreciate the good, or we can ignore the bad, pretend it never happened and let it control us in some shape or form. After being controlled by sorceresses and utterly robbed of my own agency, I'd secretly vowed to never let anything have control over me ever again once Squall had convinced me that I wasn't destined to be a bad sorceress. And as hard as it was, I couldn't let this be the exception to my rule.

Choosing the blue was my decision to remember the past and acknowledge what had happened.

Rubbing the corners of my right eye, the finger was damp when I moved it away from my face. I wondered how things would have changed if the outcome would have turned out differently four years ago — yes, I knew it was futile to wonder about the could-have-beens that never would be, but…when something you never thought you would have ever wanted is taken away from you before you have the chance to do something about it, it leaves a constant daily ache behind. Nothing debilitating, no, but just something that gnaws at you all the same, something you wish you could just ignore or repair. You wonder why they never got a fighting chance, an opportunity to live a full life on their terms — meanwhile, despite how tough as life can get sometimes, you were lucky enough to have the luxury of being alive. I just…

I pinched the bridge of my nose and allowed myself to let go of the breath I'd been holding captive in my chest. Then I made myself say the words I've never been able to say before.

"_I don't care if practically everyone thought I was stupid to try to go through with what I did then, I wish you would have lived._" I whispered to the universe. The words almost didn't want to come out but…I guess that's what happens when they carry the burden of making things real. I took another breath. "_I would have loved to have had the chance see you grow up. Your dad might have needed more time to get used to the idea of having you around but, I also know that he would have loved you in his own way too._"

I had to stop then and there. Not because I was on the verge of becoming a snivelling wreck, but because I'd realized that it wasn't just the universe listening to my words anymore. For a man who was a hair over six feet tall with more muscle definition that I could ever dream of having, small wasn't an adjective I've used to describe him in a long time and yet…everything about the way he carried himself in this moment screamed 'shrinking violet.'

I stood still, embarrassed to make eye contact. I knew this was the very reason he'd been wary about painting this room this colour and I just gave him a reason to worry about me. I felt awful. This was supposed to be a happy time, a new chapter in our lives, and here I was, making him mentally dig up graves I'm sure he's already made peace with. I mean, it was one thing to get things off your chest in private but it was always more complicated when the words you didn't mean for anyone but the universe to hear reach other ears. You never quite knew how they'd react.

"…I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to hear that."

…That was definitely not the reaction I'd expected.

Mustering all my courage, I finally made eye contact. My face did not instantaneously catch on fire, much to my surprise – I was expecting full blown combustion.

"No, don't be." I told him, my voice faltering just a little bit. "I just…it just felt right at that moment to get it off my chest. It's not your fault that I didn't think of the possibility of you overhearing me by accident. Just…don't think we need to repaint because of this. I'm fine with it, really."

Squall narrowed his eyes for a moment before walking towards me, taking a seat on the edge of the bed directly in front of my turned chair.

"I'm not worried about the paint." he frankly told me before averting his eyes for a moment, something that took me off-guard. "…I'm proud that you were able to admit that out loud after all these years, even if I wasn't supposed to hear that."

My lips curved ever so slightly into a bittersweet smile, eyes becoming a little glassier than I would have cared to admit. The unspoken words found in his actions were not helping things.

"Thank you." I told him. "I know I haven't exactly handled this very well over the years but I'm trying my hardest not to let it control my life anymore. I realize that what I said probably doesn't make it seem like I'm trying but…"

"—You don't have to explain yourself to me." he said, stopping me in mid-sentence. "I understand."

And I believed him.

If I wanted to be honest with myself, the truth was that our stillborn baby boy's death had been the exception to my rule. It had been for the longest time. We were still foolhardy teenagers when I got pregnant at 18. It didn't matter that we had been careful with protection, people were quick to draw their preferred conclusions anyway. I knew Squall wasn't keen on keeping our baby, but he respected my wishes anyway, wishes that pretty much divided our friends and pretty much everyone in Garden to boot.

I remembered the look on his face months later when I rushed into his office to show him the ultrasound pictures indicating that we were having a boy. I remembered saying that the ultrasound tech was 1000% positive of that because he was being a little exhibitionist for her. I remembered him actually chuckling before he responded that he didn't get that from him, to which I jokingly replied that I had evidence saying otherwise before I had to leave his office because he couldn't put off his meeting with prospective clients any longer. From that brief exchange, I somehow knew that we would be ok, somehow, some way.

It wasn't even a month later when I lost our son. Squall was there for me, and I was thankful for his presence every day, but…I felt like I couldn't grieve, that I wasn't allowed to. I'd heard too many condolences along the lines of 'maybe it wasn't meant to be' and whispers of how 'Commander Leonhart dodged a bullet' to feel like I could. I know, I shouldn't have let it all get to me, but after the maelstrom of a year I'd had having a hard time adjusting to so many new things good and bad, it was easier to try to put on a brave face than it was to actually deal with the reality of things.

And that is why I know that Squall understands the importance of what I'd done today — he's too smart of a man to not realize that I'd taken those cues from him all those years ago.

Before I could even utter another thank you, the man before me extended a hand in my direction, one which I gladly accepted as he drew me in closer so I could sit on his lap. I allowed him to protectively wrap his arms around me, basking in his warm hold.

"…They just called back." he softly said.

"…And?" I could feel his breath hitch.

"Tests came back positive."

With my suspicion from the past few days confirmed, a sudden calmness swept over me. "…I guess we might have to repaint this room after all."

"…You sure?"

"Positive."


End file.
